Lord of all Dragonkin
by Ebanu8
Summary: Prequel to The Galaxy's Greatest Warriors. The sky has been ripped open, the veil in tatters as Thedas nears its descent into chaos. Out of the ashes will rise a most unlikely hero that will be the salvation of all Thedosians, but darker forces move in the shadows, and it will be up to the Inquisitor and his unlikely band of companions to rise to the occasion.
1. Prolouge

**A/N: So this is the new fanfic I promised you guys, but like I said, I will be going on vacation in about two weeks time, so I will be then be gone for over three weeks which will give me plenty of time to come up with new ideas and refresh my imagination.**

 **Also, the poll is closed, and due to majority winning, I will be doing another new fanfic which will be a Starcraft/Mass Effect crossover, once I have made some progress with this story.**

 **Now that is done, I hope you enjoy reading.**

 **Prolouge: The Beginning**

A lone Elven man, taller than the average Elf – and the average human, groaned heavily as he tried to open his eyes to assert his surroundings, his strange, black padded leather armour caked in dust that was easily flung off with a swipe of his gauntleted hand.

He was confused; he felt as if he had just lost his memory, a void in his memory that was blank, incomplete and lacking sustainance. Waking from his sudden, brief state of unconsciousness, he got up to find himself in-

 _The fade!? Why in Yggdrasil's name am I even here in the first place?_ The Elf thought to himself as he was momentarily stunned by his surroundings, his hand reaching for a sheathed weapon on his side that was not even there.

 _Curses, first I am trapped in this damned dimension, and now I am left without my beloved katana!_ He cursed mentally, becoming angry with himself for being so careless.

Loud insectoid hissing and chittering brought his attention to several unnaturally large roaches – far larger than ordinary roaches – that were converging on his position.

His mind raced through two main options; either make a stand and fight with his barehanded martial arts, or try to find an exit out of the fade itself.

In the end, he settled for the latter, as being trapped for eternity in the fade to battle demons just for survival did not seem to sit well with him, as he was unable to utilize his abilities to the fullest for some reason; he did not know what curse was inflicted on him, but he was unable to use his magic at all.

 _Run!_ He heard a voice shout in his head, and he turned to find its source, which was an iridiscent, ethereal woman waving to him from the top of a mound of earth that was very steep, and difficult to climb.

He ran, as fast as his trained body would carry him up the slopes as his training began to take over, his hands deftly grabbing spaces in the rock face to allow him to climb higher and let his feet do the rest of the work.

 _Hurry! You are almost there!_ The Elf heard the ghost of a woman reach out to him in his mind, who then extended a hand for him to reach.

Just a bit further, all he needed was to grab her hand and he would be out of the godforsaken place.

A flash of light blinded his eyes, and by the time his sight corrected itself, he could see that he was no longer in the fade, yet still not far from it's presense for some reason.

He could not stay awake any longer, the green mark on his hand now glowing uncontrollably as the colour began to fade from his eyes, his mind shutting down as he once again fell back into unconsciousness.

Whilst he was unaware, several soldiers in modest but fully functional combat gear surrounded his unconscious form with swords drawn, with two more women coming closer to have a good look at his face.

One of them, dressed in purple with a hood covering most of her face, was visibly shocked when she looked at his face, looking so similar to a good friend of hers, and after a brief, heated argument, deferred to the other woman's judgement and settled for taking him back to the mountain village for further interrogation.

No one knew just who this Elf was, but he was certainly not Dalish, judging by his strange armour and tatoos that did not resemble any vallaslin they had.

The hooded woman could only hope he was their hope, their salvation, instead of their doom.

IIOII

His mind felt like it was intoxicated, unwilling to awaken and function properly. His eyelids were heavy, forcing the Elf to put more effort into opening them and looking at his surrounings.

He found that he was indeed no longer in the fade, but in a dark, damp room of stone that looked suspiciously like a prison with at least four people that looked like professional soldiers pointing their swords at him.

 _Damnit, am I cursed with eternal clamity that will befall me?_ The Elf growled mentally as he began to move his hands, which to his growing annoyance, were shackled in a set of manacles restricting them, though he was thankful his feet were not subject to the sa-

A terrible jolt of pain coursed through his left hand, the result of a flaring green mark that was previously not on his hand.

The door banged open, showing the same two women who had taken him into custody and who the soldiers deferred as they withdrew their weapons.

One of them, wearing modest armour and purple clothing underneath, her sword, shield and breastplate adorned with the symbol of sunburst eye, confronted the Elf face to face with an expression of indignant anger.

"Tell me who you are," He heard the woman – probably Nevarran, judging by her accent – demand from him.

The Elf remained silent, unwilling to answer.

"Tell me how you got this," She demanded again, holding up his marked left hand for him to see, then throwing it back down to the floor.

"I do not know," The Elf simply answered back.

The warrior woman did not seem satisfied by his answer, and forcefully grabbed his armour by the chest to bring his face closer to hers.

"You're lying!"

"Cassandra, calm down," Another woman of Orlesian descent tried to persuade, "Let me talk to him."

Still burning with rage, Cassandra reluctantly put the Elf back down on the cold, hard stone floor, letting the other woman talk directly to their charge.

"I am Leliana, Left Hand of the late Divine Justinia," The Orlesian introduced herself, doing little to stop the Elf from feeling indignant at being the object of suspicion.

"I would tell you my name, but I have long forgotten it," The Elf said, confusing those present with his strange accent.

It did not seem to match any known accent; Fereldan, Orlesian, Anders, or even the Free Marches – given the realm's diversity compared to the other larger countries.

Also, given that he had no name to give to his interrogators, meant that it would be even harder to judge whether he was truly innocent or guilty; no one would forget his name so easily if, as it was tantamount to losing your own identity.

He would have been mistaken for an escaped slave, but his accent was not Tevinter, so that possibility was ruled out.

Stuck at an impasse, the two women were running out of options to find out if the man had an alibi or not, and time was beginning to run out for all of them.

"Then do you remember anything? Of what happened before you became our prisoner?" She asked.

The Elf scrunched up his faces in concentration, as he struggled to recall past events as his captors asked him to.

"I remember being trapped in the fade, then I was being chased by demons. I ran, and ran," The Elf recalled, still unable to recall most of what happened before he even ended up in the fade, "Then I saw... a woman?"

It was far too vague an answer, too little information for them to go on, but it was the best the Elf could recall, so they were back to the drawing board.

"How about this," The Elf suggested, "I will go with you to where you found me, and we shall see if I truly am guilty or otherwise."

He could see surprise registering on their faces; perhaps they were not expecting for their suspect to willingly volunteer for what was turning into a suicide mission, given their predictament.

After they deliberated about their next course of action, Cassandra then said to her Orlesian colleague, "Leliana, go ahead to the foward camp. The prisoner and I will meet you there."

Leliana nodded, but before she turned to leave, she asked the Elf one last time.

"If you truly have lost your name, do you at least know your family name?"

He pondered for only the briefest of seconds, then answered, "Sardothien."

All those in the room were caught off-guard by his surname, but decided to not give it much thought as Leliana and the others quickly dashed towards where the foward camp was stationed.

Once Leliana left, Cassandra motioned for the soldiers to leave, and once they were gone, proceeded to take out a key that unlocked the manacles holding Sardothien's arms in place, allowing him freedom of movement for now.

Sardothien touched his wrists as he smiled at finally being freed, then stood up from where he was kneeling, facing Cassandra with a serious expression contrasting with his earlier mood.

"Take me there," He said, and Cassandra obliged, opening the door to the outside world.

Once outside, Sardothien reveled in the fresh air of the cold mountainous region, the cold kiss of snowflakes touching his smooth, unmarred face.

It was a good feeling, but it would not last long, as the agonising burn of the mark flaring on his hand forced him to the ground, the pain overwhelming even his mental strength.

Cassandra moved to help him up, so that they could quickly move to their destination, but Sardothien simply refused her, standing up despite the agony he had just endured. Along the way, the locals seemed angry at the Elf for something, as if he had just murdered the most important person of their society.

Curses were flung at him, others simply stayed away from him, all of them being no concern to the Elven warrior as he began running in the direction where other soldiers were headed.

Looking up at the sky, he could see that the sky was torn asunder; a large green hole lay open in the sky, spewing forth comets of baleful felfire that landed everywhere around them, giving rise to abominations, twisted forms of life that were a perversion of mother nature herself.

"What is the hole in the sky?" Sardothien called to Cassandra, "What caused this in the first place?"

"We call it the breach," Cassandra answered, "It is a hole in the sky that grows everytime your mark pulses. Eventually, it may grow bigger until it swallows the world."

 _So this is what it's all about, is it?_ Sardothien thought to himself as they ran higher up the pathway, _I seem to be responsible for tearing the sky apart, but by the looks in the locals' faces, I seem to be responsible for killing someone important to them._

"What happened exactly? I have no memory of what happened before this damned hole appeared in the sky!" Sardothien asked kindly, the loud volume of his voice somewhat unfitting for such a kind question.

"We happened to find your unconscious form at the site of the explosion, where the breach opened, so we naturally brought you in as our prime suspect," Cassandra explained, panting heavily as she tried to catch up with the Elf's remarkable speed.

They stopped talking afterwards, and eventually reached a bridge where a couple of soldiers were running from, the gates wide open for them to pass through. Without sparing a second thought, the duo began to cross the bridge, but they only made it halfway before one of the felfire comets impacted on the bridge, breaking it's foundations and causing it to collapse.

Both hid the frozen river hard, but were otherwise unharmed aside from slight bruises.

To spite them, fate decided to make sure yet another comet landed not far from where they lay, causing two shades to spring forth from the impact site.

"Get behind me!" Cassandra barked as she drew her weapons.

If Cassandra thought to take both on, she was sorely mistaken as only one began attacking her, while the other shade moved towards Sardothien, fangs brandished as it hissed an unnatural sound reminiscent of wailing.

Rather than try to find a weapon though, Sardothien simply assumed a defensive stance and landed a solid kick on the shade's equivalent of a torso, then, all of a sudden, a large, gaping hole appeared where the shade's heart should have been, causing the shade to fade into nothing more than dust.

As soon as Cassandra took care of the other shade by ramming her sword into its head, she pointed her weapon at the Elf, still untrusting of Sardothien's trustworthiness.

"Put your weapon down, now!" She shouted, then realised that Sardothien was wielding no such thing; no dagger, staff, bow and arrow, or even a sword.

Flabbergastered, and somewhat embarrased by what she just ordered the Elf to do, considering his lack of personal weaponry, she quickly put down her sword, mentally berating herself in the process.

"Surprised that I killed the other demon without any weapon or spell?" Sardothien asked, guessing correctly what Cassandra was thinking about.

Rather than answer his question, Cassandra simply sighed heavily as she said, "I should remember that you willingly agreed to come."

"Naturally," The Elf replied.

Without wasting time on further deliberation, both continued their rush up the numerous stone steps that led up the mountain to the site of the disastrous explosion; it was where the Temple of Sacred Ashes was built, and where Divine Justinia V, currently nominated leader of the Chantry organised peace talks in an attempt to prevent the continued war between the Templars and Mages.

No one knew that many of the leaders of both sides and the Divine herself would be killed in a sudden explosion of fade energies, sundering the religious monument into ruins in the process.

After fighting and killing many weaker demons that were no more than mere nusainces to the duo, Sardothien's sensitive ears picked up sounds of fighting nearby, much earlier than Cassandra as they hurried up the stairwell.

"Hear that? Someone is close by and needs our help," Cassandra informed the Elf, even though such a mundane thing was not necessary.

Once they climed over several wooden debris that were scattered in the snowy climate, they stumbled upon two people fending off waves of demons spewing forth from a smaller, yet very distinct green hole that looked exactly like the breach in the sky.

The mini-breach itself was a warping mass of sickly green crystals that warped all reality around them, bending and shifting into different forms at every second whilst black masses came out of it at the same time.

Fighting the demons were a Dwarf wearing a red coat and firing a masterfully calibrated crossbow that fired bolts at a faster rate than ordinary crossbows, and another Elf that wore modest clothing meant for travel, and wielded a staff that cast magic of a very similar nature to the rift itself.

Sardothien and Cassandra immediately got into the thick of the battle, relieving some pressure from the Dwarf and Elf.

Although they were fighting demons in all seriousness, the others could not help but be impressed at how Sardothien was killing demons with only his bare hands, and he managed to do so without any use of magic which either the Elf or Casssandra would have otherwise detected.

He was an embodiment of serious efficiency and graceful lethality, as his moves could both kill and bewilder with their surprising gracefulness. Demon after demon died at his hands as he was merciless yet conservative on his strength.

Soon afterward, no more demons emerged from the rift, at least for the time being. Seizing the moment, the other Elf moved towards Sardothien, grabbing his hand out of urgency.

"Quickly, before more come through!"

He pointed the marked hand towards the rift, and to everyone's surprise, a green tendril of energy extended out of the glowing mark towards the rift, and after a few seconds, a loud popping sound accompanied by the abrupt shutting of the rift in a brief burst of green energy had occured.

"So I was right in my theory after all," The Elven mage said as he smiled, observing Sardothien under a scrutinizing glare.

The snowy haired Elf turned to face Cassandra and asked, "What does he mean by 'Theory'?"

"I can explain for myself," The Elven mage said, "But I believe introductions are in order. I am Solas, wandering Elven apostate and the closest expert the Chantry has on the fade itself."

"And I am Varric Tethras," The Dwarf introduced himself, "Dwarven Merchant from Kirkwall, famous writer and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong."

The Dwarf winked at Cassandra as he said the last part, causing Cassandra to wrinkle her face in irritation in response.

"And I am Sardothien," The snowy-haired Elf introduced himself as he bowed respectfully, "Before you ask anything else, that is my family name, for I have forgotten my first name."

Both Varric and Solas were unsure as to why the prisoner would lose his first name, but they decided to leave it for another time, something Sardothien was secretly thankful for.

"So I believe your theory was that the mark on my hand was the key to sealing these rifts, yes?" Sardothien inquired as he took the time to get the answers he currently sought.

"Indeed," Solas confirmed as he continued, "And it seems I was correct."

The breach in the sky pulsed once, causing Sardothien to reel under the sheer pain coursing through his arm as he gritted his teeth.

"The pulses are coming faster now," Cassandra stated as she rushed to help Sardothien up, despite the Elf waving off her hand as he stood back up.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

With no time to waste, the group of four had continued their way up the lengthly stairwells as they killed demon after demon that continued to block their way, their magic considerably weak against years of combat experience.

Varric himself could not help but feel that the way Sardothien fought with only his legs and arms; it reminded him of the one time when he saw the Arl of Redcliffe fight the Arishok, though his movements were more heavy handed compared to Sardothien's, which were like those of a graceful swan in the water.

The Arl of Redcliffe looked very similar to Sardothien without taking the body physique and different ears in mind. Snowy white hair, alien yet ancient markings adorning the right arm and similar side of the face, they almost looked very alike, as if they were descended from the same parental heritage.

Ironically, both also happened to have the same surname, which would have solidified anyone's belief that they were family, but that would be a matter to be investigated for another time.

One glaring difference between the two, however, was their social behaviour and perhaps, their manner of speech as well.

The Arl of Redcliffe, or more commonly known as Sebastian Sardothien, both to the general public and his inner circle, always had the attitude of a social outcast and was atrociously disrespectful to everyone, even the arrogant nobles of modern society – though his inner circle would be spared such treatment.

If not for his great contributions to the development of science and technology, that has improved the lives of many a Fereldan – which earned him the hatred of the Chantry since he openly employed magic without a Circle or a band of templars – and caused the previously backwater country to turn into a rapidly growing power in the whole continent.

The Elven Sardothien on the other hand, seemed a lot more respectful and generally well-mannered, if albeit too cultured a man, almost sounding like one of the kinder Orlesian nobles who were less concerned about superiority and more about public image.

He did not look like he had the makings of a scholar, but the Dwarf was certain that he would become good friends with him, if he proved to be an admirer of top-class litreature.

None of them knew how much time had passed as they traversed the near endless stone steps, but they knew they were getting closer to the foward camp up halfway up the mountain, as they saw a heavier presense of soldiers frantically fighting off waves of demons spewing forth from a nearby rift.

After sealing about two rifts on the way up, Sardothien had gotten used to the feeling of hot needles prickling his arm whenever he used the mark to seal a rift, and how to control the mark so that it would do it's intended job.

The Elf had to admit, he had seen little magic that could do so much as to sunder the sky, and rip open a gaping hole that allowed demons to spew forth every minute of the day. It had not been since the days of Arlathan that such a spell was misused for someone's nefarious purposes, and on such a large scale as well.

But no one, not even the ancient Elves had come close to having the sheer mana capacity and capabilities to rip open such a large rift; only a catalyst capable of storing immense power was able to fuel the mana for such a spell of immemse power requirements.

This could only mean...

 _No,_ Sardothien thought to himself in growing disbelief, _Only an Elven artefact of legendary make or a Draconian artefact of similar power could be capable of such a feat. For the culprits responsible to be in possession of such an item..._

The thoughts raging through Sardothien's head threatened to give him a terrible aneurysm as he tried to comprehend just how did-

Another demon spawned in front of him as he was distracted, his fist making short work of its head as it was smashed into tiny bits.

IIOII

As he was still contemplating the possibility of such a scenario turning out, the group had eventually managed to reach a camp set on a stone bridge, where they could see Leliana arguing with a middle-aged man in garments of red and white, with the symbol of a sunburst adorning his black headwear – the customary uniform of a Chantry cleric.

"We cannot continue this any longer!" The older man shouted, "Do you really think the prisoner is the solution to this crisis as of now!?"

"You know very well we have no other choice, Chancellor Roderick," Leliana addressed the cleric in a stern tone, "Speaking of which, here they come now."

Leliana turned to face the group of four that had just passed the gates, causing a scowl to form on the cleric's face as Cassandra approached both of them.

"Leliana, thank the Maker you are okay," She said in slight joy as she then turned to Roderick, "Chancellor Roderick, this is-"

"I know _who_ he is," Roderick retorted, his voice carrying a cutting edge, "Chain him! I want him taken to Val Royeaux to face execution!"

"You are a thug!" Cassandra insinuated as she became angrier at the cleric's attitude, "A glorified bureaucrat who thinks himself better than others!"

"Justinia is dead!" Roderick shouted, this time slightly sorrowful as he straightened his face in anger once more, "We must elect a new divine in order to prevent the country from falling back into chaos!"

"If we do not seal the breach here and now, there will not even be a new election to hold, Roderick-san," Sardothien countered, his strange accent causing the cleric's name to feel different on his tongue.

The Elf grabbed the cleric by his collar, and then fixed a deathly, withering glare at his poor victim, who was already beginning to cower under his domineering presense which was enhanced by his eyes, changing from a cerulean blue to a golden amber, his round pupils becoming slited holes that were animalistic in nature.

"That is enough, Sardothien," Leliana barked at the Elf, causing him to turn the same glare on the Left Hand of the Divine who was barely keeping her wits about her.

Soon enough, he reverted his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then proceeded to apologize, "I am sorry for my outburst, Leliana-dono."

Leliana was taken aback by the Elf's sudden change in demeanour, but decided to not let it show on her face, as she nodded to accept his apology and turn her gaze back onto a map before her.

To Sardothien's eye, the map Leliana was reading was surprisingly detailed to the point that every small geological detail was drawn with pinpoint precision; from the vastest of dense forests to the most isolated of roads, all were near-perfectly drawn to scale for the actual size and distance of said geological features.

The mountain range they were currently in was marked with a red cross, while the supposed Temple of Sacred Ashes by a circle, allowing Sardothien to get a clear read on their position and formulate a possible battle plan that would allow them to clear a path to the ruins of the once great temple.

All around them, soldiers were frantically running around to their assigned posts, either to keep watch for anymore incoming waves of demons, or to cover the bodies of the deceased with blankets as they mourned them.

Unfortunately, it seems that the garrison in the camp was beginning to dwindle in number, as Sardothien counted the number of bodies being laid to rest by the soldiers covering their bodies with whatever fabric they could find.

"So what is the plan, Leliana-dono?" Sardothien inquired as he inspected the map with a scrutinizing glare.

Leliana proceeded to face the Elf with a monotone, yet serious expression. "As it stands, there are two paths we can take to reach the Temple; either we charge in straight, or we take a detour by the mountain pass."

"The mountain pass is too risky, Leliana," Cassandra warned with caution, "We lost an entire scouting party up there."

"But at the same time, a direct charge to the Temple will be equally costly on our devastated numbers, Cassandra," Leliana countered, "Neither option is without their consequences."

"What do you think we should do, Sardothien?" Cassandra asked the Elf, whose face was contorted in thoughtfullness, his eyes closed as he ran simulations in his mind to find the best way to the temple.

Sardothien was no grand strategist, but he was very concerned about whether they could make it either way with the few men they had, whether or not they managed to rescue the lost scouting party up the mountain pass.

If they charged in directly, they risked losing too many men just in attempting a charge, because with dwindled numbers composing their small army, their charge would be far too blunted, and risked going in blinded without an accurate report from the scout team.

On the other hand, if more men were to be diverted to creating a diversion to allow a small team of veterans the time they needed to retrieve the lost scouts, then even with the new information, their numbers would be cut down even further, and there would not be enough men to reach the temple at all.

Both were costly options, as both women had stated. There was just the option of judging which was more costly than the other.

Once he was sure he had made the best choice, he opened his eyes to face the two women with an expression that was a mix of uncertainty and solemnity, opening his mouth to state his choice.

"We will charge straight in," The Elf said, "The scouts are a lost cause."

The choice had been made. There was no turning back now. As Leliana and Cassandra moved to relay their orders to the other soldiers, Sardothien turned his gaze to a curved, sleek blade sheathed in a jet-black scabbard laying on a nearby table.

Picking it up, he unsheathed the blade, revealing an ornately engraved blade with alien symbols of a foreign language and an engraved dragon on either side, which were glowing a cerulean blue – the same colour as his irises.

Immediately, he could feel the blade's immense sense of satisfaction as he held it in his hand; testing the blade with a few swings, he realised that it was indeed his favourite blade, one which he could never seperate from in his entire life.

Smiling with genuine satisfaction himself, he sheathed the blade back into it's resting place before strapping it onto his waist with his cloth belt.

To their credit, the soldiers managed to assemble themselves in full combat gear at the edge of the bridge, steely resolve being put to the test against unending tides of demons from the sky.

Without further delay, and after Roderick opted to stay behind at the foward camp, as one, all surviving soldiers made their way to the temple itself, with Cassandra, Leliana and Sardothien spearheading the assault, Varric and Solas just behind them.

IIOII

Predictably, hordes of demons moved to form a rough barricade to block their advance, hurling their magic or brandishing their claws against tempered steel and hardened resolve, but the soldiers were a reinvigorated machine as Cassandra and Sardothien led the charge that broke their shoddy wall.

Sardothien's skills and unnatural agility with his martial arts had become as deadly as any rouge's assassination skills, and combined with Cassandra's tenacity as one who would protect her allies, they showed no mercy to any who dared stand in their way.

Sardothien was ruthless efficiency, merciless to all his enemies, yet never expending more energy than he needed to. Cassandra was iron will and stubborn resilience, stalwart and unwavering as a warrior woman. The soldiers that accompanied them, who were originally near routing and fleeing, were rallied under their commanding presense and fought harder with renewed vigour and zeal.

As they carved a path through the hordes of demons infesting the mountain pass like a plague, they could hear other soldiers fighting desperately in a last stand against yet more demons swarming their position.

Among them was a slightly older, if not handsome man with golden blonde hair wearing better armour than most soldiers and a pelt of brown bear fur on his shoulders, valiantly fighting off demons with a sword and shield like Cassandra did. Above them, yet another rift was spawning more of the abominations every minute, causing the Elf's mark to flare in response to it's presense.

Wordlessly, Sardothien and the others drew their weapons, and charged staight at the demons, catching them in a pincer attack and hopelessly dooming the demons to their deaths.

At first, many demons tried charging the Elven warrior, but as they neared him, the runes on his blade began to glow a crimson red, radiating an intimidating aura that caused many of them to cower in fear, their unnatural wailing carrying their abject fear.

It was only for a few seconds, but those few seconds were more than enough for the Elven warrior to quickly close the distance between them, and cut their heads off cleanly in precise, fluid swings.

As soon as the demons died by his blade, their very bodies disintegrated into dust and – much to everyone's shock and amazement – flowed directly into his blade and melded with it, every trace of the dust disappearing as the sword somehow absorbed it all.

Uncaring about the looks of shock and awe from the others, Sardothien approached the blonde-haired man who looked no worse for the wear, panting heavily as he sheathed his sword after cleaning the black ichor from it.

"I presume you were leading the troops back there?" Sardothien asked the man.

"Yes, I was," He answered back, "My name is Cullen Rutherford, and I assume you are the prisoner?"

"I'd rather you call me Sardothien, but it is nonetheless nice to meet you, Cullen-dono," The Elf greeted, confusing Cullen with how he addressed him.

"Cullen! Praise the Maker you are alright," Cassandra called to him as she approached alongside Leliana.

"Cassandra, we're in a tight spot here," Cullen informed her, "Most of our soldiers are already dead, and the final passageway upwards to the temple is swarming with demons."

"There is still another route where the demons are not so deeply entrenched," Leliana suggested, "The secret tunnel network that we discovered when we began building the temple."

"That could be a good idea," Sardothien agreed, "But we do not know for sure whether there is yet another rift at that route."

"At least it is better than charging out in the open right now," Cassandra countered, waving a hand at the soldiers to indicate their tired state.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

IIOII

All of them were half-right when they said that the tunnel passageway was shorter than charging in the open; there was a lot less space in the old mines to maneuvere in the case of an attack, so moving a large troop of soldiers through such a place was much more difficult than anyone thought.

To further compound their troubles, there was an open rift spewing forth demons that began impeding their progress through the tunnel network to the temple, and it was only with the tactical decisions of Cassandra and Leliana, and their unwavering resolve, that they even managed to make headway to the upper levels of the temple.

When they did, all of their noses were assaulted by the smell of burning flesh. The once intricate stone structure designed by the best architects, was now no more than ruined, craked stone walls that barely reached more than one and a half stories, the pavement scorched and caked in thick layers of soot.

All around them, several corpses lay burnt beyond recognition, their expressions transfixed in absolute fear or surprise.

The strength of the stench was enough to make more than a few of the soldiers reel from it, forcing them to cover their noses as they waded through the destruction wrought on the temple.

What they saw next was more disturbing than burnt bodies, however; in fact, it was something none of the were even expecting to find at all.

Several crystals glowing a baleful red extended from the ground, radiating an aura that set Sardothien and the others on edge. In their minds, they could hear the crystals, calling to them, haunting them with whispers of an old, corrupted song that felt extremely uncomfortable to them.

"Is it just me, Seeker, or am I seeing red lyrium right here?" Varric asked Cassandra with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"We know about the dangers of the substance very well, Varric," Cassandra replied.

"But what's it _doing_ here?" Varric countered, tightening his grip on his crossbow.

"I believe the one responsible has also planted it here," Sardothien suggested, his fingers tensing as they kept close to his blade's hilt, "But I have never encountered such an evil substance before in my life as a wanderer."

The sheer presense of the red lyrium felt wrong. A sone emnated from the crystals, one Sardothien could feel was very clearly probing his mental defenses, threatening to break apart his sanity bit by bit.

He was immune to such a thing, but he doubted it would be the same for his companions. Urging them onward, they eventually began hearing voices that were not of the red lyrium's song.

 _Someone help me!_

Little by little, the voices were beginning to get louder and louder, and as they descended the ruined stairs, he began to hear a voice that was demonic, inhuman, all of those evil qualities that befit all those of a demon.

 _We have an intruder..._

Soon enough, after they descended to the centre of the explosion, where they first found Sardothien in his unconscious form, the environment around them became warped and twisted, alerting all of them to the change happening around them.

"What is happening?" Cassandra shouted as she drew her weapons.

"The veil is especially weak here, allowing the fade to bleed into this place," Solas explained.

They could soon see the images of two people in the area, one was Divine Justinia V herself, her aged, wrinkled face currently transfixed in abject fear for her life as her arms were restrained in what looked like blackish mist with a tinge of crimson red.

The other being's full body was shrouded in mystery, indicating that the spirits of the fade were far too fearful of it to replicate its appearance, but his red, baleful red eyes were clearly seen by all.

" _Somebody, help me!_ " The image of Justinia cried out.

" _What's going on?_ " A familiar voice called out, the bearer being no one other than...

Sardothien.

His image raced towards both Justinia and the unknown being, both turning their attention to the newcomer who had interrupted whatever was taking place; the Elf did not want to even think what happened that time.

" _Run while you can, warn them!_ " Justinia shouted in concern, urging him to get out of the temple.

" _We have an intruder..._ " The being said in annoyance, uncaring of Sardothien's identity, " _Slay the Elf!_ "

"You _were_ there!" Cassandra stated after the image had faded, "What was that being planning exactly? What happened to Justinia?"

"I don't remember," Sardothien reminded her harshly.

"There," Solas pointed to a large rift at the center of the implosion, "The rift that connects to the breach."

And certainly enough, a rift that was far larger than the others they usually encountered hovered over them in mid-air, though for the moment it did not seem to spew any demons from the fade.

"The rift seems to have been sealed, albeit temporarily," Solas explained as he observed the shifting rift, "Should we seal it completely, it should also close the breach in the sky, but to do so, we must reopen it, then properly close it in the same fashion."

"But that would mean we must face yet more demons to end this madness," Sardothien pointed out.

"Everyone, stand ready!" Cassandra ordered, then stood next to Sardothien with sword and shield at the ready.

Around the rift, archers began readying their bows to pepper any demons coming forth with arrows under Leliana's guidance, whilst the swordsmen and other soldiers took positions around the rift to cover Sardothien's back, should the demons prove more than they could handle.

Taking a deep breath, he extended his marked hand, and let a tendril of green magic extend forth to touch the rift, which temporarily forced him back when the rift reopened, allowing a large demon to stand before them.

It was a hulking mass of purple, two horns protruding from its head as it conjured a whip of pure lightning in it's meaty, clawed hand. It was a pride demon, the strongest of its kind.

"Now!" Cassandra ordered, at which dozens of arrows began peppering the demon, but it only infuriated the demon as he blindly swung his whip in anger, killing three soldiers unlucky enough to be caught by it.

Sardothien was caught by the demon who held it in both hands, an expression of sadistic glee adorning its face as it thought of so many painful ways for the Elf to die slowly, his sword dropping to the ground in the process.

That expression became abject horror when Sardothien began radiating an aura of power, his strength growing by the second as he forced himself free from the demon's grasp; no matter how much strength the demon tried to summon, the Elf wrenched himself free by punching a large, gaping hole in each hand, causing the demon to scream in pain.

Without functional hands to conjure magic, the demon was effecttively helpless as Sardothien jumped high in the air until he was at the same height as the demon's head.

The Elf drew the sword quicker than the eye could follow, and in one fell swoop, cut off the demon's head, letting it and the headless corpse drop harmlessly to the ground.

All who witnessed his display were shocked beyond description, their weapons clattering to the floor as their minds attempted to register the scene played before them.

Just who was this man? How was he so strong he could take on a pride demon all by himself? At first they thought he was one of those armoured magi called 'Arcane Warriors' currently being trained from many of Ferelden's mages, but the armour's strange design had ruled it out.

He also had a strangely designed blade and strange accent that did not fit into Ferelden society at all, classifying him as a foreigner.

"The rift!" Cassandra reminded, "Now!"

Without delaying any further, Sardothien extended his hand towards the rift once more, a familiar feeling of pain coursing throughout Sardothien's body as a green tendril of magical energy extended forth towards the hole.

Unlike the other rifts though, this one required all of Sardothien's willpower just to maintain the spell he was casting right now, straining his physical and mental endurance to the absolute limit.

For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen other than Sardothien becoming more and more tired, until a loud popping sound went off as everyone was blinded by a sudden outburst of emerald green, washing over their eyes as it expanded outward to the wider world.

For those who were watching from afar, it was akin to seeing a large sun flare going off as the ground literally rumbled in it's wake.

Sardothien never knew what happened next, for he had immediately passed out afterward, his world fading into blackness as the light in his eyes began to dim.

His last thoughts were of his newly-accquainted companions, before his mind succumbed to the cold abyss of darkness.

 **A/N: There will be some things in this fanfic that will not match with what I wrote in chapter two of The Galaxy's Greatest warriors since this is a prequel to said story, so I edited some parts of the chapter to better fit the two together.**

 **Anyway, I will be going to Japan in about two weeks time, but I can try to put up one more chapter before I go on vacation, so do stay tuned for more.**

 **Until then, this is Ebanu8.**


	2. Rebirth of the Inquisition

**Chapter one: Rebirth of the Inquisition**

 _Blood. The whole battlefield lay slathered with the crimson red life-giving liquid as it flowed in rivers from the countless bodies that lay scattered all around._

 _Sardothien lay panting heavily, large splatters of blood decorating his armour like crude war paint and dripping off his once immaculate katana. His body was covered in several cuts and injuries that quickly healed by themselves – all thanks to his regenerative blood._

 _But even with such a body function, it was not enough to prevent the 'Elf' from becoming more battle-worn as more of his similarly-armoured comrades and friends died at the hands of their enemies._

 _Frustration ran through Sardothien's head. He was at fault, he kept telling himself, at fault for leading his comrades into a trap that decimated their ranks despite his subordinates telling him time and again that it was not such._

 _But he could only continue to blame himself; his entire regiment had been decimated, the enemy stood triumphant, and now he was on his knees, unable to fight as he could only helplessly await the deathblow._

 _A hulking creature wearing crude, black armour had a twisted, gnarly smile on his face, standing victorious over his defeated enemy as a dragon flew overhead, its flesh and scales decaying as a result of the taint flowing throughout its body._

 _Sardothien heard the dragon roar loudly, before the creature raised its rusted blade and decapitated him in one fell swing._

IIOII

He awoke from his slumber with a gasp, not realising that he was sweating heavily until he touched his warm forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose to distract himself from the nightmare he had just dreamed off.

At first he thought he was in prison, shackled to the floor like a criminal to be tried and tested for his crimes, the rats nibbling at his flesh as he lay motionless while kneeling on the cold, stone floor.

Once he managed to fight the heaviness in his eyelids though, he could see that he was not in the same scenario his imagination plagued his mind about; instead, he was laying on a decently comfortable bed in a humble wooden shack, moderately decorated with fur pelts, shelves, all sorts of miscellanious items that one would find in a normal peasant's house.

He also noticed that he was no longer in the cold comfort of his masterfully crafted leather armour. In it's place was a somewhat tight but fitting white attire that was adorned with buttons of gold-

 _Something is not right here,_ Sardothien thought with suspiciousness as he looked at his new clothes, _Who in their right minds would ever wear such clothes with buttons of real gold? I am not some aristocrat that's too self-centred for such a luxury as this, whoever was the fool to dress me as such._

Scowling to himself, he almost did not smell the terrified Elven woman who dropped a small box containing whatever she placed inside it, perhaps terrified of the sour expression she saw on his face.

"F-Forgive me, I did not know you were awake," She sputtered as she tried to find the right words to say.

Realising that she scared the poor little girl, he relaxed his expression and inhaled deeply to relax his mood a little.

"How long have I been out?" He asked, the Elven woman still terrified of him despite his change of expression.

In fact, she was so terrified, that she went so far as to drop on her knees in a kowtow position, completely avoiding eye contact as she kept her head low.

"I humbly ask for your forgiveness, for I am not worthy to be in your presense," She said respectfully, her voice slightly subdued but still loud enough for Sardothien to hear.

Now he was just more confused than ever. "What has exactly happened during my slumber?"

Still keeping her eyes away from him, she said, "You are currently respected as the Herald of Andraste, sent by divine intervention to save us from the demons of the fade and heal the hole in the sky. Many have been talking about how you managed to calm the breach using whatever magic Andraste bestowed on you, my Lord."

"You currently rest in Haven, the village that exists not far from where you last passed out."

So the breach was only calmed, but not sealed completely. Sardothien wished that it was just so much easier to close the hole in the sky and be done with all this nonsense, but he knew it was just his wishful thinking for it to ever happen.

Looking on his now bare left hand, a green mark glowing an emerald green still scarred his hand, though it did not randomly pulsate with fade energies and give him hot, piercing pain every now and then.

Honestly, he believed this was the work of Elven magic; no other mark would ever carry such a distinct magical aura, much less one that he had not felt since the fall of the ancient Elves, but since the majority believed in the faith the Chantry preached, he knew they would just look the other way and say it was bestowed by the prophetess in the fade.

"How long have I been out?" Sardothien asked.

Finally gathering her courage, she got up from her kneeling position and – to her relief – saw that the 'Herald' had adopted a much calmer expression, though she still struggled to find her tongue when trying her best to answer his questions.

"You have been out for three whole days, my Lord, and Cassandra and the others are expecting you at the local Chantry," She said as she began to near the door.

"They are expecting me, you say?" Sardothien inquired.

"Yes, my Lord, Lady Cassandra says that she wants to meet you at the Chantry once you've awoken. At once, she said!" The Elven girl said, before turning to leave the house.

"Before that, I must tell you that the rest of your belongings are inside that chest over there," She said as she pointed to a chest in a corner of the house.

Once the Elven girl had left, Sardothien immediately took off his clothes in an unrefined manner, not caring about any tears or marks he would have made in his pajamas, threw them aside and quickly put on his clothes that the girl – most likely – was kind enough to wash them for him.

A white kimono with a black lower half that stretched all the way to his ankles, a cerulean haori overcoat that matched the colour of his irises, and a grey cloth belt that held his katana in place. His footwear was a pair of intricately patterned leather boots he had crafted himself to handle walking in harsh climates.

He then proceeded to open the chest the Elven girl told him about, and found his favourite bow and a strangely shaped bottle-like container sealed by a cork tied to it by a thin, durable string.

The bow itself was unlike the bows other races crafted; slightly longer than an average longbow, it was crafted of enchanted mahogany that allowed the Elf to channel his power into whatever arrows were fired by it. A beautiful type of red mahogany, the lustre of the wood allowed it's glossyness to shine through in the light, dim as it was.

Now that his formal wear was complete, he proceeded to step outside the house, and found to his annoyance that a huge crowd had gathered outside his temporary lodge, with an honor guard saluting him as he exited the building.

His first instinct was to tell the people to go home, that he was no divine hero sent by the gods to aid them in their time of need and that their faith in him was unfounded, something the populace made up to escape from the fear gripping their hearts with icy cold fingers.

But at the same time, he did not want them to succumb to their fear and rejection of reality just so that the truth could be revealed to them, and as a result cause them to commit suicide and have more blood on his hand.

In the end, he decided to keep quiet about the thoughts raging in his head, and kept a straight face and walked onwards to the Chantry – he was thankful that the crowds made a pathway for him.

The Chantry itself was no more than a stone chapel, the only building in the whole area that was bigger than all the houses in the remote mountain village. As the sunlight bathed the whole building, it gave an illusion that the stones were bricks of silver, polished to show their enduring grandeur in the gleaming golden light of the day.

As Sardothien pushed open the large wooden doors leading inside, soldiers made way for him to pass through, saluting him with fists across their chests out of respect in the process.

When he neared the room at the back of the chapel, he could hear the familiar voice of Chancellor Roderick howling his displeasure at two other women inside a smaller room, their constant bickering beginning to annoy the Elf as he neared the small, inconspicuous wooden door that led inside.

He could not understand what was with Roderick, him and his persistent requests for the culprit he believed to be Sardothien himself, to be chained as a prisoner and be sent to his execution immediately. Either he was carrying a greviance, or he was just plain biased against him since he looked like an Elf, and he was more inclined to believe it was the latter.

He was not surprised; afterall, it had become the continent's status quo to blame Elves and mages just because they were themselves and could never be accepted as equals amongst Andrastian society.

Pushing open the door, he saw Cassandra and Leliana predictably arguing with Roderick about the issue at hand, since the breach had not been fully sealed yet.

"...you really think the prisoner is not at fault, Cassandra!?" Roderick hotly spat at the Nevarran woman before him, his face red with anger.

"The prisoner was not responsible for opening the breach, Chancellor, and I will not rest until the true culprit has been caught and punished," Cassandra retorted, unflinching from her stance.

"Oh really?" Roderick said, "And you're saying the prisoner's appearance was a mere coincidence?"

Cassandra turned to face the two soldiers standing guard at the entrance to the room, and said, "Disregard that, and leave us."

With a curt salute, the two guards turned and left the room, leaving Roderick and Sardothien alone with the others inside.

"And I believe it was providence," Cassandra firmly stated, "The Maker sent him to us in our time of need."

"Now there is the matter of finding the culprit," Leliana stated, her expression becoming serious, throwing an accusing glare at the Chancellor, "Whoever executed the whole thing was not someone from the outside, so it had to be someone inside the Divine's inner circle."

Roderick was taken aback by the accusation against him, and said in utter disbelief, " _I_ am a suspect?"

" _You_ , Chancellor Roderick, and many others," Leliana spat, leaving the Chancellor fuming with indignance as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Do you see this?" Cassandra said as she held up a thick book bound in hard leather, the symbol of an eye surrounded by sunburst flames, "A writ, from the Divine herself, granting us the authority to act."

"As of this moment, I hereby declare the Inquisition reborn."

The ultimatum had left Roderick shocked. Left with no other choice, since Cassandra and Leliana had the late Divine's permission to conduct such a course of action, he could only leave through the only entrance to the room, leaving Sardothien alone with the others inside.

"Sorry that you had to watch what happened just now," Cassandra apologized as she composed herself.

"Do not mention it," Sardothien reassured. "Though I wonder why do we need to revive the long-dead Inquisition for times such as this, as I question taking such a course of action."

From what the Elf had read about the Inquisition, it was created by a group of Andrastians who felt it was their duty to protect the people of the world from the dangers that would endanger its safety.

Basically they 'protect' the world from various things that simply did not fit with the their way of thinking; anyone they found guilty of practicing anti-Andrastian things such as helping apostate mages – mages who ran away from a Circle – and practicing blood magic freely without restraint.

Blood magic, the forbidden magic that had harmed many a life, both draconian and mortal. He shuddered at the thought of it, as draconians who dabbled in blood magic ended up losing their connection to the sacred waters of the goddess, and what made them honourable warriors.

However, it was also a double-edged sword to those who used it in combat; the nature of the magic itself turned the caster into living bait, attracting demons like moths to the flame.

Such magi were labeled maleficarum by the Chantry, because they preach that blood magic was evil, something that was to be eradicated from existense at all times. Personally, he did not find it evil, but it was certainly not magic to be trifled with, despite the apparent ease mortals had at mastering it.

However, the Inquisition was little better than the Chantry as of now, as there had been rumours and surviving ancient historical texts that detailed the brutallity and cruelty of the actions the Inquisition had done during its existense, which was why Sardothien questioned the feasibility of rebuilding the infamous organisation.

"We have no other choice," Leliana stated, "We must act as of now, or the breach will never be sealed. The Divine's murderer can wait."

Sardothien sighed; sometimes he hated how mortal humans could be so stubborn and adamant in their decisions, be it half-hearted or fully devoted.

"Then I believe we have a declaration to make, don't we?"

IIOII

Within minutes, Leliana and Cassandra stood outside the Chantry with Sardothien in tow, appearing to the people of Haven as the soldiers unfurled the black banner decorated by the insignia of a sunburst eye, the old banner of the Inquisition.

And as the large banner had become visible for all to see, just below it, a man was busy hammering a nail securing the declaration of the Inquisition's rebirth on the doors of the Chantry, angering more than a few Chantry clerics who saw it as a threat to their positions of power in the Chantry's hierarchy.

Among them was a certain Chancellor Roderick, and though he was not concerned about his position of power since only women could ascend higher in the Chantry's ranks, he was still frustrated nonetheless with the course of action that the Hands of the Divine have taken, and walked away like the rest of the clerics.

For the people of Haven, they were still unsure of the Inquisition, but they believed that with the herald as its Inquisitor and the Hands of the Divine as his advisors, he would surely deliver them from the chaos that was beginning to grip the continent of Thedas, and so they cheered for them and the Inquisition, the soldiers pledging their support as well.

Once the declaration had been made to the people, and to the rest of the continent, Sardothien made his way back inside the Chantry with Cassandra and Leliana in tow, finding that a man he recognised as Cullen and an unfamiliar woman were waiting for them inside the war room.

"Now that we have reestablished the Inquisition, allow me to introduce to you our different advisors," Cassandra said as she closed the door.

"This is Cullen Rutherford, whom you've already met earlier, and he is current acting commander of the Inquisition's forces," She pointed to the same blonde-haired man wearing the same pelt of fur on his shoulders.

"It is a pleasure to meet you again, Inquisitor," Cullen nodded at Sardothien.

"And this is our ambassador, Josephine Montiliyet of Antiva," Cassandra pointed to a dark-skinned woman.

Josephine herself did not seem harmless, but something about her put Sardothien on edge, causing the Elf to subtly place his hand on his sword's hilt out of caution while keeping a straight face.

Everything about her concealed her true nature; a golden encrusted frilly dress, chocolate-coloured eyes constantly glued to her clipboard with her right hand delicately, yet vigorously writing on the paper, though her eyes were on Sardothien right now, curly, long hair tied into an elegant bun, she looked every part the harmless ambassador going about her daily activities.

"Andaran atish'an," Josephine greeted with a smile, giving a polite, dainty bow.

Sardothien raised an eyebrow at her words. "You speak Elven."

The Antivan giggled slightly, "You have heard all I know about the language though."

Clapping his hands, Sardothien spoke, "Now that we have taken care of the introductions, shall we go back to the crisis at hand? Mainly regarding the mark on my hand."

"Actually, what are you _wearing_?" Cullen inquired with a confused look in his face.

Sardothien palmed his face upon hearing the question; he had completely forgotten that he changed out of his armour into his travel wear, which made him stick out like a sore thumb in all of Thedosian society.

"Forget about what I am wearing for now, what is our current situation?" Sardothien said, trying to change the topic.

Leliana looked reluctant to spill out the details, but nonetheless said, "It is no good. We are lacking everything the Inquisition needs to stand on its own two feet; lack of manpower, no sustainable funding, and now no Chantry support."

"To make matters worse," Cassandra interjected, "The mage-templar war has begun to worsen the situation in Ferelden, where we are currently located. Even now, fanatical templars and mages fight each other at even the most remote places in the country, causing much suffering to the local populace."

Sardothien looked thoughtful as he digested the information given to him, then asked, "How many can we recruit from Haven at most?"

Cullen sighed heavily, as if the cure was worse than the cause.

"Only a few dozen at most, not counting the number of women who may volunteer."

This had thrown a wrench in the Inquisition's plans, as Sardothien was not expecting their predictament to be so worrysome, that they would have to eventually start begging other powers for support to keep themselves afloat.

"There is a glimmer of hope for the Inquisition, however," Josephine suggested, bringing all eyes on her, "We have just received a letter from a Chantry mother who is requesting aid in the Hinterlands not far from here."

Josephine put down her clipboard and quill, and took out a rolled piece of ragged parchment sealed with a sunburst symbol, with what looked like an arrowhead beneath it. Breaking the seal, she unrolled its contents for all to see.

"She says that the fighting has begun to worsen, and that the Ferelden military is stretched thin trying to keep the peace in the various villages and town centres. If we do not respond soon, we may lose what modicrum of support we may get," Josephine stated all-too seriously.

Peering over the map, he could see the country of Ferelden being marked by a golden yellow territory, while Orlais a light sky blue, with the tiny black dot of the Inquisition being a mere insect compared to the gigantic hives of the two powers.

Near their marked area, a small red cross was marked, indicating the location of the Chantry mother that had requested their aid.

Looking up from the map, he asked Leliana, "Do we have an able scouting party?"

The Orlesian nodded, "We have a scouting team skilled in marksmanship; they could scout the area and clear the way for the rest of our forces to entrench themselves in the region."

The Elven warrior nodded, then ordered, "Dispatch that scouting party to the region; I will take our current companions and inspect the damage done myself."

"Consider it done."

IIOII

The Hinterlands were a relatively peaceful region, untroubled by the turmoils of war that would have destroyed it's otherwise beautiful landscape.

Tall, sturdy trees that looked like a rough pallisade of nature in the distance, large, imposing mountains that contained treasure troves of all sorts of ores and minerals, it was the most resource-rich region in the entire country that ensured its continued prosperity even when Orlais cut its trading ties with the Alamarri country.

In the past, the country had been ravaged by the Fifth Blight, the hideous taint contaminating mother nature until her condition seemed incurable. The once great forests that housed several species of wildlife withered and died under the pestilence's iron grip, the ground became parched and infertile; it was something that would not go away even with the Archdemon Urthemiel's death.

With the advent of Sebastian Sardothien, however, the country had healed all of its wounds that it suffered during the blight, and had undergone an industrial revolution at an unprecedented pace never foreseen by any seer, somniari, or scholar in the whole continent's history.

Huge, automated furnaces churned out large shipments of steel everyday, allowing hundreds of soldiers to be armed with suitable armor and weapons that were forged by the large guilds of blacksmiths based in Denerim and other fiefdoms.

And through the increased production of steel, Ferelden was able to produce the first ever ironclad ships to ever exist in the whole of Thedas; covered in thick steel plating and equipped with the newly-invented Biofuel Steam Engine, they were near impervious to hails of arrows fired by archers and because it was made completely of metal, they could last much longer than wooden ships which had to be disposed of due to heavy waterlogging of the wooden structure.

That prosperity did not last long, however, because as soon as the mage-templar war erupted, it spread to both Ferelden and Orlais, and to other kingsoma in the free marches; the few templars and mage Circles who did not want to be involved in the conflict were targeted and slaughtered by their former comrades, and the chaos it caused stretched peacekeeping armies to their limits.

Not far from a humble village that dealt in no more than simple trading, mages and templars began charging each other, steel cutting through flesh as magic penetrated enchanted armor.

Though mages were no match for the zealous warriors clad in steel in close combat, that did not mean the templars did not suffer losses of their own from the mages' magic; fire and lightning roasting them inside their armour, ice shards and stonefists pierced metal armor.

There seemed to be no end to the war, as old tensions and hatreds ran deep and Andrastian teachings began to conflict with beliefs based on realism.

Near a certain village, where a Chantry mother was busy tending to the wounded soldiers tasked with defending the village, a group of templars were attacking another group of mages while under a hail of ice spikes and fireballs being cast in their direction, losing as many as two men to a couple of spells.

The fanatical mages tried their best to prevent the templars from getting too close, but the zealous warriors were resistant to their magic, if not completely, and began being cut down by tempered steel swords converging on their position.

Out of the blue, however, one of the templars died as an arrow impaled his unprotected neck, his cut artery making him choke on large amounts of blood as he sank to the ground. Soon afterward both his friends and commrades and enemies suffered the same fate, arrows finding their marks as their armor and spells failed to protect them.

Not far from where they fought, a female Dwarven scout smiled in grim satisfaction as she and the scouts under her command had fufilled their objective. Writing a small note, she enclosed it in a rudimentary string knot and tied it to the foot of a raven, sending it back from where it came.

As the messenger raven flew, the same Chantry mother tending to the wounded saw the raven fly in the sky, wondering what omens would occur in the future.

IIOII

Sardothien and his chosen companions, Solas, Varric and Cassandra, trekked through the countryside as they made their way to the foward camp that this Scout Harding and those under her command had established in preparation for the Inquisitor's arrival.

As Sardothien examined his surroundings, he could feel an unnaturally high concentration of mana in the air-no, not just the air, but the soil, vegetation and even the distant ponds and rivers contained at least some modicrum of mana in them, which made the land especially fertile.

This was especially alarming, but it was also the main reason why the putrid stench of the darkspawn taint was lacking, as if it had never tainted the pristine landscape in the first place; magic was used to purify the land of all the corruption it had suffered. Dragonkin magic, to be more specific.

If one of his kind was acutally responsible for curing the land of it's disease after the Fifth Blight had ended...

Emotions began to rage and mix within him. One side of him felt excitement and joy in reuniting with one of his few kinsmen, while another felt uncertainty and doubt about whether he or she would actually accept him and his failure to protect his former comrades in battling the darkspawn.

 _The stench of crimson blood coating his body like war paint assaulting his senses, the corpses of his fallen kin littering the battlefield like freshly butchered carcasses..._

"...are you okay?"

Sardothien shook his head to forget his nightmare, seeing a female Dwarf standing in front of him below his head looking at him out of concern.

She looked fairly young, perhaps in her late teenage years; a pockmarked face bearing dark brown orbs for eyes, chestnut hair tied in a short ponytail that barely extended out of her head. Wearing the standard light armor that allowed greater mobility, she had an oak shortbow slung across her chest that indicated she was a marksman.

"I will be fine," Sardothien reluctantly answered, then asked, "What is your name?"

The Dwarf saluted him as he asked, "Scout Harding, leading the Inquisition's scout teams, Inquisitor. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting an Elf to be the Herald of Andraste of all people."

The 'Elf' sighed at the last part; he was thankful that Harding had distracted him from his nightmare, or he would be stuck reliving the horror for all eternity.

"How is our position?" He asked, his voice becoming more serious and professional.

"For now, some other scouts have managed to draw much of the fighting away from the village where the Chantry mother Giselle is tending to the villagers, but the village itself is far from safe unless we establish a real presense in the region," Harding reported.

"How far is the village?"

"It isn't far, but there is a small band of rouge templars blocking the way there, so be cautious of y-"

A loud sound reminiscent of raging thunder rang through the air, interrupting Harding as she was halfway through her report and drawing their attention to where the sound came from.

"That came from the nearby village!" Cassandra shouted, drawing her weapons in alarm, "We have to go now!"

As Varric and Solas did the same with their weapons, Sardothien charged ahead with the rest od his companions following behind him, but not before asking Harding one more question.

"Who was exactly responsible for healing this land?"

To that, Harding simply replied, "Sebastian Sardothien, the current Arl of Redcliffe."

Upon hearing that name, he was more confused than ever, despite not showing any trace of it; not only was his surviving fellow Dragonkin a member of Ferleden nobility, he was also a member of his family, carrying the same family name as he did.

Deciding to think about it later, he nodded his thanks and dashed off into the distance, leaving a confused Scout Harding as she wondered about the Inquisitor's strange behaviour.

IIOII

As soon as the group had reached a few inches from the templar band Harding told them about, some of the templar archers began firing arrows at their direction, uncaring of what their intentions were.

Seeing that they were beyond reason, Sardothien drew his bow and fired two arrows he had taken earlier from the Inquisition's smithy with pinpoint accuracy, making the templars' armor useless since the arrows found their mark.

Dropping like flies, they were too focused on Sardothien to notice that Varric and Solas had already contributed to the barrage with magic and bolt, further worsening their predictament.

Cassandra herself did not let the others outshine her, and skillfully blocked the continuous assaults of a few templars trying to surround her, years of practice turning her sword skills into a fine art.

Solas had conjured a fire rune beneath two more templars that tried to attack Cassandra from behind, the unbearable heat making short work of them as they were burned inside their armor, while Varric picked off any archers trying to score hits.

Within moments, the band of templars were taken care off, leaving the route to the nearby Hinterlands village wide open.

Wasting no time, Sardothien and the others quickly rushed towards the village where several mages were fighting templars, but at the same time also fighting soldiers clad in black wielding what he recognised as ancient Elven magic, but also strange long tubes of metal that made loud noises reminiscent of minature explosions that made short work of the steel armor of the templars.

One of those soldiers using the strange weapons and Elven magic was hoisting a banner of a white dragon in a background of pitch-black, a banner Sardothien had not seen before he had left Ferelden over ten years ago, and their right sleeves always had both light blue and dark blue stripes.

The tube-wielding soldiers were currently taking cover from the rouge mages' magic in a spherical barrier conjured by an Elven mage wearing plated armor, one hand glowing an emerald green as his comrades tried their best to hold off the relentless assault, the other holding an enormous battlehammer that seemed too heavy for him to carry, yet he did so like it was lighter than a feather.

They were too focused to notice the white-haired warrior that had teleported behind them in a flash, his companions not knowing where he disappeared to until he lopped off the heads of two mages in one swing of his sword.

At the same time, Varric had scored two headshots with his beloved crossbow, Bianca, killing two templars as Cassandra stromed their position, ramming her shield into yet another unfortunate templar.

Having gained a moment's reprive, the unknown soldiers regained their bearings and aided their new, unknown allies in eliminating the last of rouge templars and mages, hollow capsules of metal being ejected from the tube-like weapons every second.

They had won. The Inquisition had scored its first victory; a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The soldiers clad in black did not cheer, however, as they immediately moved to take positions around the village to avoid being caught off guard by another attack, whilst the Elven mage immediately moved to help a Chantry mother tend to the wounded, his hand flaring with magic as he began healing their injuries.

One of them, an Elven soldier lacking vallaslin which made him a City Elf, asked Sardothien, "Are you the Herald of Andraste?"

The 'Elf' nodded, "I am."

After hearing his answer, the soldier then took out a letter and passed it to the Inquisitor, the wax seal bearing the same insignia of a flying dragon.

"It is from the Arl of Redcliffe himself," The soldier stated, "For your eyes only."

As Sardothien pondered about the letter in his hands, the Elven soldier already dashed off to his post, leaving the Inquisitor wondering about what interest the Arl of Redcliffe had in him.

"Inquisitor," Solas called to him, making him decide not to hide the letter, "There is something I need to talk with you about."

Just then, Cassandra approached them, saying, "The area is safe for now, but we had better not take any chances."

Sardothien nodded, then quietly whispered into Solas' ear, "We will talk later," before going to the centremost part of the village to plant the Inquisition's banner in the area, marking the village as under the protection of the Inquisition.

A few hours afterward, more Inquisition soldiers had arrived to reinforce the village the Redcliffe soldiers had trouble trying to hold, with one of them putting up a notice the area was under protection of the Inquisition.

Sardothien could see that the Inquisition's manpower was insufficient to cover the entire country, but he was confident that by winning the people's trust with actions rather than words, more and more fresh recruits would flood to the Inquisition and be the panacea to their manpower shortage.

Although the Redcliffe soldiers stayed edgy around the Inquisition soldiers, they had no problem in allowing them to fortify their presense in the area, but their no-trust attitude towards the Inquisition could be a huge problem in winning the populace's trust in them.

He could also notice, however, that most of the soldiers and villagers were actually Elven, with fewer humans than he expected in the region; perhaps the local population was mostly Elven while other cities in Ferelden were predominantly Human?

That assumption was ruled out, when he saw the few humans who did live in the village immediately give the Elven soldiers – to both those from Redcliffe and those in the Inquisition – both medical and food aid without discrimination.

Such an act of kindness was something no Andrastian would do, given their unreasonable hatred of Elves and mages that was nuturted by the corrupt teachings of the Chantry.

As he explored the village, he saw a wounded Human soldier react badly to another mage trying to heal his injuries, while a slightly aged Chantry mother's ministrations were all that kept him from expiring.

Her cleric uniform was slightly different from what Chantry mothers normally wore; instead of the crimson red accompanying the predominant white, in it's place was a forest green. Her facial features consisted of a slightly tan skin tone, a protruding chin and earth brown eyes, her expression conveying a motherly care.

"Don't let them touch me, mother. Their magic..." The soldier begged, unwilling to relax in his cot.

"Turned to good purpose," The Chantry mother soothed in a gentle tone, "Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade."

"But.." The soldier began to protest, but was stopped by the mother's comforting voice.

"Hush, child. Let them tend to your wounds."

Reluctantly, the soldier lay down and relaxed, allowing the mage tending to him earlier to do his job.

Getting up from where she knelt beside the soldier, she could see the Inquisitior approaching him from nearby.

"I believe you are mother Giselle?" Sardothien inquired.

"Yes, and you must be the famed Herald of Andraste," Giselle bowed respectfully, her voice carrying a heavy Orlesian accent, "You have a very strange accent, I must say."

"It seems that my fame has already spread faster than the eye could blink," Sardothien commented, making the letter in his hand disappear in a sea of flames without Giselle's knowing.

"So I hear that the Orlesian Chantry has withdrawn its support for the Inquisition, yes?" Mother Giselle asked, to which the Inquisitor nodded, "Then I have to tell you that they are condemming the Inquisition in the Maker's name."

"They see the organisation as a threat to their power and influence throughout Thedas, and so they hope that with their unified voice, they would manipulate the populace to rejecting the Inquisition, and by extension the Ferelden Chantry."

"And you are telling me because?" Sardothien inquired, narrowing his eyes at the cleric.

A Dalish Elf came behind Mother Giselle and passed her an intricately folded piece of paper that was mysteriously clean and unwrinkled, completely white and not a sickly sandy yellow, to which Giselle nodded her thanks.

"I will put it to you this way," Giselle stated with an expression that brokked no nonsense, "You do not need to completely change their beliefs about you. You just need some of them to doubt."

Sardothien did not know what were her intentions about revealing so much information to him about the Orlesian Chantry's actions, nor did he know whether she was acting under orders or simply telling them by her own obligations.

What he did know, however, that in this time and age, the Chantry usually had the say in many political affairs and had the inherent trust of the huge majority of the population, so if they wanted to condemn the Inquisition, naturally the populace would follow suit, which would throw a wrench in their plans for sealing the breach.

On the other hand, she mentioned that the Orlesian Chantry wanted to do the same thing to the Ferelden Chantry, meaning that the Orlesian clerics may go so far as to excommunicate it and perhaps declare an exalted march against Ferelden in the process.

Not to mention that he had just received a letter from Sebastian Sardothien, the Arl of Redcliffe himself, which was strictly meant for his eyes only.

"Is doubt simply all we need to combat their attempt at excommincating us?" The Inquisitor asked, unsure of the feasibility of such a thought.

"Their power lies only in their united voice," Giselle explained, "Take that from them, and they can no longer act against you."

A nearby bush rustled, Sardothien's sensitive ears noticing it milliseconds earlier than mother Giselle did, and quickly shot an arrow in the direction of the bush, causing a pained scream to echo as a spy in leather armor tried to escape with an arrow lodged in the back of his knee.

Sardothien grabbed the scout by his collar and demanded, "Who sent you?"

The spy simply spat blood in his face and replied defiantly, "I will never tell!"

Having become fed up with his stubborness, he held his face in an iron grip with his right hand, his markings glowing a bright blue along with his eyes.

" **I demand to know who sent you to spy on us!** " Sardothien repeated his earlier question, his voice becoming far deeper and more powerful.

The spy felt pain attacking his mind like there was no tomorrow; hot white pain flooded his senses, resembling thousands of daggers piercing his body and burning it at the same time.

In an instant, his mental defenses were overwhelmed, and his mouth moved without conscious effort.

"T-The Orlesian Chantry, the revered mothers tasked me to find ways to sabotage... Ferelden's unity between the Elves and Humans..." He struggled not to say out of his mouth.

" **And for what!?** " Sardothien demanded once more, not satisfied with the halfassed answer he received.

"To... To prevent the Inquisition from establishing its presense... in the region."

Having received his answer, he kneed the spy hard in the face, breaking his nose with an audible crunch and knocking him unconscious, his markings' glow fading until it was nonexistent.

He turned around to head back to the village, only to find his other companions staring in shock, Cassandra gripping the hilt of her sword tightly in grim anticipation.

"W-What was that?" Cassandra demanded, "What magic was that?"

"Uhh, don't mean to be intrusive, but I don't think I've seen anyone other than the Dragonkin cast that sort of ma-"

Sardothien suddenly grabbed Varric by his collar faster than their eyes could follow, his cerulean orbs changing to a golden amber focusing a soul-piercing gaze that terrified the Dwarf to his core.

"Where did you find out about the Dragonkin?" He demanded, abandoning all reasoning.

"H-Hold on, let me explain.." Varric said, trying to diffuse the situation he was in.

Still maintaining an impatient demeanour, Sardothien lifted Varric until he was at face level with him, his patience stretching thin by the minute.

"Exactly how did you manage to come across a Dragonkin, Varric-san?" He questioned, keeping a firm grip on the Dwarf while he had the other hand on his sheathed sword.

Clearing his throat with a brief cough, Varric said, "Believe me when I say this: Only Ferelden and Kirkwall, along with some of the Dalish clans ever know about the Dragonkin's existense, and the first one they knew about?"

"Let me guess, the one who shares the same family name with mine, Sebastian Sardothien."

Varric nodded, then felt himself landing on the ground with a hard thump, the Inquisitor releasing him from his iron grip on his collar.

He took out the bottle-like container strapped to his waist, and in big gulps, emptied it's contents down his throat, some of it actually spilling through his lips and flowing down his throat.

As he finished drinking from his strangely shaped container, he seemed much calmer than before, looking apologetic to his dwarven companion.

"Sorry for my earlier outburst," Sardothien apologised as he sealed his strange container, "It's just that the Dragonkin are sworn to keeping their presense a secret to the rest of the mortals of the world."

"Well, they aren't so secretive, now that one of them is Ferelden nobility," Varric drawled, wiping the dust from his revealing coat.

If looks could kill, Cassandra would surely have made short work of the Dwarf as she directed a killer glare at Varric, Solas trying to maintain peace between the two with little effect.

"Why didn't you tell me he was not even Elven in the first place?" The Nevarran demanded, keeping the tip of her sword in contact with Varric's bare neck.

"I ask that you remain calm, Cassandra," Solas said as he tried to diffuse the tension between the two, "Even I did not know he was not what he looked to be."

"But it is almost idiotic!" Cassandra retorted, "To think that our Herald was a Dragon in disguise... if the Orlesian Chantry were to hear of it-"

Her rant was cut short, as Sardothien drew his blade at godly speed, cutting Cassandra's sword completely in half as the tip flew off the rest of it's body and landed unceremoniously in the grassy ground.

A stunned Cassandra could only gape in astonishment, her body frozen stiff at witnessing the unnaturally fast speed at which the Inquisitor had broken her blade, and he did so cleanly that the part at which the other half was cut off was as smooth as a polished stone, without even scratching his sword in the process.

"That is enough, Cassandra-dono," Sardothien ordered as he resheathed his sword, "I will explain everything back at Haven, so cease your childish behaviour."

It was an insult to the Seeker, calling her childish in front of the other companions, but without delay, she threw her sword away and headed to the village's smithy to get a new one.

"Was that really necessary, calling the Seeker a child?" Solas asked, coming up to Sardothien's side.

"For once, I have to agree with Chuckles," Varric said, referring to Solas as he pointed a finger in his direction.

"I just hope she does not act too rashly, for her sake," Sardothien said, taking another gulp of the liquid in his gourd.

IIOII

After Cassandra had gotten a new sword from the village blacksmith, the party had set out to find the hideouts of the rouge templars and mages based in Ferelden, intent on rooting out their presense in the countryside.

With the help of some scout reports from the troops they had assisted earlier, they had managed to pin down both hideouts and a few other camps that were constantly harrasing Ferelden patrols and other remote villages where military presense was near nonexistent.

Accompanying them was the Elven mage who they had saved earlier, a Dalish arcane warrior by the name of Carith Sabrae, whose clan was currently ruling the fortress of Ostagar overlooking the Kocari wilds.

Long, golden blonde hair draping over his shoulders with a briad crowning his head, sapphire blue vallaslin covering the fair, beige skin of his forehead, piercing emerald eyes carrying a fire in them, it would be hard to tell that he was at the age of thirty-eight years, his looks being very deceiving.

Wearing intricately crafted plate armor forged by the best Elven blacksmiths, they were a shining golden colour with patches of forest green on the breastplate and gauntlets bearing enchantments that strengthened it's durability and lightened it's weight, with the left pauldron shaped like the head of a dragon with the lower jaw absent.

Trekking through the countryside, they came across yet another mage camp that was foolish enough to attack them, Carith's barrier an iron wall that deflected their inferior magic like water on a rock.

Sardothien had to applaud whoever managed to revive the long lost art of the Arcane Warrior; it was a pinnacle of magical innovation, even in the eyes of the Dragonkin. It was such a pity it was lost to the sands of time until now.

Those Circle mages who tried to recreate a very weak, very rudimentary version of the lost art, who called themselves knight enchanters were doing no more than simply copying the bare basics, never refining the art to a point that they were truly masters of the magic in both name and action.

He nearly pitied the mages who rebelled against the Chantry, as they were simply fighting for their right to live not as caged animals, but as mortal beings like any others, but they degraded from honourable rebels to murderous, rampaging animals in less than a year, which gave the Chantry reason to condemn them, from a logical standpoint.

Cleaving another mage in half across his waist, he felt nothing but contempt and pity for the mages he and his party were hunting down. Contempt for their quick abandonment of upholding their original honourable values, and pity for their harsh treatment under the Chantry's dictatorship.

Wiping his blood-stained blade with a white cloth, he threw it to the floor without a second thought about whether he could wash it clean or not, not noticing that a trembling soldier had picked up the cloth with shaky hands.

Only a miniscule amount of blood stained his breastplate, but his behaviour clearly showed that he was not used to seeing other Humans die so unnaturally before his very eyes, though he did not panic as much as he thought; death was not uncommonly seen in Thedas, afterall.

"Is it your first time killing someone?" Sardothien asked the soldier.

As he did not hear the Inquisitor's footsteps get louder as he neared him, he jumped in surprise like a mouse would upon encountering it's predator, dropping the blood-stained cloth in his hands.

"Y-Yes, Inquisitor," The soldier stammered, embarrased by his show of inappropriate behaviour.

Not caring about his earlier behaviour, he picked up the blood-stained cloth and stared at it as if the cloth was a momento of the past.

"In war, there is no such thing as a bloodless battle for either side," Sardothien explained as he handed it back to the soldier, "Every soldier is fated to kill at least one of his enemies before either surviving or dying, but to retreat out of fear for staining his hands in blood, is the most shameful thing for a soldier to do in battle."

"Remember those words, soldier, as you sally forth to battle."

Leaving the soldier alone with the red-stained cloth in his hands, he began searching the bodies for notes or other things of interest, eventually finding a blood-stained piece of parchment in one of the dead mages' pockets.

Unrolling the parchment, he could make out what seemed to be propoganda that the mages were feeding themselves and their potential recruits with, since the blood stains did not muddle the words that much.

 _The time of being subservient under the Chantry's rule is long over! I ask all like-minded mages, brandish your magic against the Chantry and templars that dare take away your right to live! The time has come for the mages to rise and rule over our former captors like kings and queens!_

Throwing away the twisted propoganda in disgust, he promptly ordered his companions and the band of soldiers following them to leave behind the bodies and continue on their journey through the grassy plains.

During their journey to find the mage stronghold they had uncovered through looting a map from a rouge mage band who was foolish enough to stand in their way, giving them a more direct route to the caves they were hiding in, but it was also fraught with danger, mainly in the form of more mage patrols and bandits blocking their way like it was their business.

As they cut down the mages and bandits mercilessly, they came upon another village beseiged by rouge templars, despite the village having no mages within its premises.

Dashing foward to the village with his companions, he cut down the zealous warriors with unrestrained fury.

The templars were initially surprised by the ambush on their ranks by the Inquisitor, but that eventually changed into religiously fueled anger and fury at their enemy, the notion of fear absent from their minds.

"Kill the knife-ear! His kind is heretical before-"

Sardothien cut off the head of the templar who blurted out the blasphemy – in his ears – cleanly with one fell swoop, the other templars beginning to cower and retreat.

Their retreat was cut short however, as furry humanoids ambushed them at the edge of the village from the nearby forest, tearing them to shreds with their sharp fangs and animalistic savagery.

Their movements, however, were not as random and unorganised as mere animals as others would think. They were far too organised, far too well equipped, as evidenced by the armor they were wearing; it was well forged, even to the inexperienced eye, the only damage sustained being no more than a few scratches.

Among them was a young human man, fiery orange hair in a short, messy mop contrasting heavily with his sapphire eyes. Wearing a light purple sleeves less cloth vest with no armor whatsoever, he only had a katana – the same type that Sardothien was wielding, and leather boots and leggings which could hardly protect him from a steel sword.

And yet, the humanoids Sardothien could now see were werewolves, deferred to him as their leader and even addressed him as royalty, but he was the type of royalty that felt more at home in the battlefield rather than indulge in the great game of politics.

His hair seemed rather off, for a normal human; it was glowing, literally glowing the colour of flames that never extinguished. His radiating aura was something he had never encountered in a long time..

A time bygone from the annals of history, one that Sardothien was born afterward.

 _Could it be...?_ Sardothien thought as the Human man approached him, putting him on guard as he prepared to draw his blade.

He neared the Inquisitor, coming far too close to even avoid his blade by dodging.

Out of instinct, he drew his katana faster than his companion's eyes could follow, intent on cleaving his opp-

A clang of metal on metal followed afterward, leaving a shocked Sardothien gripping his blade tightly.

Both of their blades were shaking heavily, each trying to push the other away through sheer force as they gritted their teeth.

Eventually, the standoff was abruptly ended with the Human's sword casting a wave of fire in the Inquisitor's direction, forcing Sardothien to withdraw his blade in order to cut the flames in half, but not without expending quite a bit of strength to do so.

"Impressive," Sardothien complimented the Human man, "I have not seen such skill and magic in a long time."

"And I was not expecting to see yet another Dragonkin being the famed 'Herald of Andraste'," The Human replied in a thick Ferelden accent.

Both sheathed their swords out of mutual respect, allowing the werewolves and companions who were tense earlier to relax.

Extending a hand, the Human said, "I'm Oren Cousland, successor to Teryn Fergus Cousland of Highever, of Ferelden. What's your name?"

 **A/N: This is the last chapter I can squeeze out before the beginning of my hiatus, so I thank all those who followed my stories, and I will see you in over three weeks time.**


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